


Flight Fright

by sadsparties



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Emotional Support, Gen, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre, who affirmed nothing and denied nothing, had one fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight Fright

When the owner of the Musain had saved enough to build a new partition inside his cafe, he asked Louison to tell the rowdy monsieurs to temporarily find another venue for their poetry recitals. So it was with heavy heart that the Les Amis de l’ABC had to temporarily move their place of principal business to the shady area of the Quartier Pigalle. Bahorel, in his own mysterious way of going around Paris, had found the room. It composed of the whole second floor of a questionable inn directly accessible by the Boulevard de Clichy. The room was bigger compared to that in their cafe, but the danger lurking in the infamous streets added a hint of caution to the air.

Enjolras presided their meeting. Everything was in order, only that Combeferre was unnaturally silent. The Necker intern was not remiss in his duties of jotting down the resolutions of the night, but when Enjolras timely quoted the words of Turgot in the proceedings, Combeferre, who would usually expound on the virtues of this soldier of cultural progress, remained mute.

The meeting was adjourned, and one by one, the amis left the establishment. Enjolras stood by the doorway leading to the stairs and shook hands with each man who took his leave. He stayed awhile to detach the Parisian map from the wall. Thinking that everyone had left, it was to his great surprise to see Combeferre standing in front of the staircase. By the light from the lamps outside, he could see the outline of Combeferre’s face. It was wrought with worry, though with what Enjolras did not know. The lonely figure shifted his weight to his left leg and with the slight turn, Enjolras could see that he was more than worried; he was afraid.

"Combeferre?"

The sudden call of his name made Combeferre turn to Enjolras with a violence that one would not expect from a lad with a peaceful countenance. There was surprise in his eyes, but not only that. Was that relief? With a deciphering that was only possible between the two of them, Enjolras expected his friend to tell him what was wrong, but to his second surprise of the night, Combeferre withdrew. He did not step back or turn, but Enjolras could physically feel him retreat to another plane. Dread filled him. Whatever it was that was bothering Combeferre, it was something that he could not readily share with him, and the mere thought of it sent a dull ache across his chest.

"Enjolras," Combeferre suddenly said.

Off guard, he could not utter a reply.

—-

Three weeks passed, and the poetry recitals in the dingy inn continued. It became notable that Enjolras and Combeferre would always leave the building last. One day Courfeyrac remarked that with their diligence, the revolution would be over even before they could detach their first paving stone. He would have left it at that, but the guilty glance that Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged had caught him off-guard. That very day, he resolved to find out their secret.

"Very well. Out with it now!" He thought it best to be upfront.

Combeferre looked up from his stack of papers. “Out with what?"

"Mon dieu! Do you really think you could fool me?" he challenged them. “You have been rearranging that pile for all of five minutes. In no particular order! I know you, man. You keep the rough drafts on the top of the pile to look over in the morning, but this particular stack seems to give you trouble since you’ve been shuffling it about while the rest of us leave. Did you think it would escape my notice?"

Courfeyrac grinned and held out his chin like he was particularly proud of himself, but his confidence wavered when Enjolras looked to Combeferre for the explanation. He had expected Enjolras to give him the facts straight on; he did not expect him to defer to Combeferre. Courfeyrac began to regret his self-indulgent speech. This was apparently serious, and he had unwittingly made a mockery of it.

Combeferre steeled himself.

"You must tell no one."

—-

"Well," he said after the long lull, “I must admit that I would never have thought you to have that fear, especially for something so… irrational."

Combeferre flushed, which caused Courfeyrac to flinch. “I do not need you to lecture me on its demerits," he said hotly. “I do not deny the virtues of a staircase. It is ours to build and use as we please," Combeferre preached, “but I also do not deny that they rattle me."

Courfeyrac started to give his friend a look of pity but caught himself just in time.

"Is this why you opted to take your lodgings outside of Necker? Because the staircases there have no handrail?"

"That is true," interjected Enjolras. He placed a reassuring hand on Combeferre’s back. “Our dear friend has made a valiant effort to expose his secret to us so that we may help him cope with his predicament. These past few weeks, I have had him walk down the stairs behind me while he lays a hand on my shoulder for stability."

At this, Combeferre gave him a look of thanks.

“Interesting," Courfeyrac mused aloud. “All this time, I had thought you preferred a bachelor’s living arrangement so that…”

Enjolras and Combeferre looked at him expectedly. He thought it best not to pursue.

"Never mind. Why ever did you start getting dizzy?"

"I was seven. My mother and I were visiting a relative, and I fell on a misstep. Fortunately, I was uninjured, but the memories of my body on free fall and my heart stopping always return when I find myself going down a staircase. I have no problems going up, but when descending, my hands require something to hold on to, thus making the Musain dreadfully convenient."

Courfeyrac nodded. There were no stairs in the Musain, so they had never noticed Combeferre’s fear. Their doctor looked like he was about to expire from embarrassment. Sensing his discomfort, Enjolras passed his hand up and down his back. This seemed to soothe him enough for him to give a passing smile. Satisfied with his friend’s state, Enjolras turned his attention to Courfeyrac, his gaze transforming from tender to demanding. Well? What must we do to make him feel better?

Courfeyrac flinched at the order and tried to redeem himself. “You mentioned your mother? I trust she soothed your pains?"

Combeferre smiled at the memory. “Yes. She slapped the landing until her hand became red, and then she turned to me and said, ‘There I have punished the evil staircase. Justice has been done, my love. Now dry your tears.’"

The three of them found themselves grinning.

—-

The next meeting, Combeferre and Courfeyrac filed out with the rest of the group. Joly, who had noticed Courfeyrac lace his arm to Combeferre’s, remarked, “You do not seem particularly drunk, my friend."

Courfeyrac turned to him with a large smile on his face. “Ah! One can never be truly sure,” he pronounced jovially. “How convenient that Combeferre is here to assist me in going down!"

The assistant shot one last look up at Enjolras for reassurance. Their chief’s face was full of mirth. “Yes, I think we will be quite all right," Combeferre said.


End file.
